First Pass
by Grav
Summary: Declan had changed his shirt.


**AN**: This story is written for **penknife**. It is a missing scene from her Six Things To Know About Dating James Watson, which you should all definitely read. (And then read the rest of her James/Declan tag). I am very happy to play in this particular corner of fandom, but most of the great ideas behind this story are hers.

**Spoilers**: None

**Rating**: Teen, I guess?

**Disclaimer**: Sooooo not mine.

**Pairing/Characters**: James Watson/Declan MacRae

**Summary**: Declan had changed his shirt.

* * *

><p><strong>First Pass<strong>

Declan had changed his shirt.

For a moment, James is perplexed. As far as he can remember, there had been nothing wrong with the shirt Declan wore to dinner, aside from the fact that it was a t-shirt, which James only allowed at the table because he couldn't think of a graceful way to stop the younger staff members from doing it. Furthermore, there hadn't been any kind of alarum since dinner, which meant that Declan's t-shirt had not fallen victim to some abnormal-related untimely end.

The new shirt has a collar. And buttons.

James forced himself to pay attention to what Declan was saying as he passed him the brandy, something about a shipment of cephalopods they're expecting, but every time James looks at him, his mind wanders quite atypically. Eventually, he settles for looking in a vague way at Declan's shoulder, which brings his attention to the shirt.

It's a deep plum colour, a far cry from Declan's typical blacks and greys. It has the look of having been pressed and left hanging in the back of the closet for some time. James casts his mind back to all the Christmas parties and social gatherings Declan has attended since he started working at the Sanctuary, but he cannot remember ever having seen the shirt before. At the same time, it doesn't look entirely new.

It's a very good colour for him, James thinks. It makes him look like he belongs in James's sitting room instead of in his office.

Cephalopods. Cephalopods are coming, and James tears his mind away from thoughts about shirts and colours and _belonging_. It's harder than it ought to be. Declan is still talking about the shipment, his fingers wrapped around the bottom of the glass of brandy James gave him. Somehow, he's managed to finish his drink, even while talking, though James has barely touched his because he keeps forgetting it. He brings the glass to his lips for a swallow, and for the first time, Declan pauses.

James looks up and sees that Declan is looking at him with the most peculiar expression on his face. It's gone in a moment, of course, and somehow Declan is _still talking_, but James is only barely pretending to pay attention, because he's realized that Declan wasn't looking at _him_, precisely. He was looking at his _mouth_.

Of course, no experiment is ever valid with just one test, so James lifts his glass again, swallowing more deliberately this time. Again, Declan pauses for just a fraction of a second before ploughing on as though nothing has happened. But something has, undeniably, happened.

And James is pretty sure there's no going back.

Declan has moved on from the cephalopods to the subject of the duty roster, which James thinks is distinctly unfair because they've been arguing about that for a while now, and it's below the belt to renew the discussion while James is distracted. He wishes that Declan would stop, that there would be some kind of awkward silence that James could terminate by reaching for Declan's collar, the better to determine if it's properly starched or if it's just stiff because it is so rarely worn.

At the same time, he knows he can't. It's not because he's Declan's employer, though that's as good an excuse as any. Rather, it's that he _can't_, and he's more than a bit taken by the fact that Declan, a product of that beautiful modernity James is so careful to scorn, _can_. James has spent too long hiding, denying, _indulging_, for him to think of it that easily. Even the most idle fantasies were beyond dangerous for so long.

And he's a mess. There are things he cannot change, things he can't explain, and sometimes things that are both at the same time, and he knows that's not fair to subject another man to, especially a man he genuinely likes. His glass is half-way to his mouth again when he thinks that, his thoughts running, as always, faster than his ability to process them, and he freezes, like he's been caught doing something he's not supposed to do.

And there's that awkward silence, the one James had wanted so badly only moments before. Because Declan's eyes had been on the glass again, and though James stopped moving, Declan didn't, and now he's staring at him, and James couldn't misinterpret the expression on his face if he _tried_. And, so help him, James _wants_ what it promises.

James knows his own face is expressionless, perhaps even cold; at the very best disinterested, but that's not what he's feeling. The expression is the result of years of practice, of deciphering coded behaviour, of re-fortifying his own heart after the worst kind of betrayal. But the feelings, the feelings are new. He tries not to analyze them, tries not to dissect them into pieces in order to force them into sense, but he cannot help but think that Declan has the freedom James had envied in Oscar, the potential he'd seen in John, the depth he'd appreciated in Alan. All of these things and a thousand new ones that were his alone besides, and if James could only stop _thinking_, he might actually do something about them, even though he'd promised himself never to instigate this sort of thing again.

Declan is still looking at him, and James realizes it's only been a fraction of a second; that even though this feels like it's taken forever to get even this far, Declan hasn't been in his office long enough to take his brandy over to the armchair. They're still standing next to the decanter. Declan hasn't given any ground.

It's that realization that finally lets James relax. Declan has done this _on purpose_, with intent, and that means it's all right for James to give a little, just a little, back.

He has enough time to wonder if it's enough, this small thing that is all he can do, and then Declan leans forward, and James can taste the brandy on his lips, and he finds he needs very badly to know if it's also on his _tongue_, so James steps that one fatal step towards him, and raises his free hand to bury it in Declan's hair.

It's unfair, James thinks, that it took him so long to get here, and that it's over so quickly once he does. But Declan is breathing hard, and James finds that he is too, and that seems promising, so James doesn't try to fight back the smile that wants to break across his face.

"I did wonder," he says, hoping Declan will understand, "why you changed your shirt." 

* * *

><p><strong>finis<strong>

Gravity_Not_Included, April 22, 2011


End file.
